


Psycho Mantis and the Madonna-Whore Complex

by PunishedPyotr



Series: The Self-Indulgent XX Chromosome AU [4]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Body Worship, Extremely Dubious Consent, Guilt, Introspection, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Underage Sex, Somnophilia, Wet Dream, eating disorder mention, implied yeast infection, top surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 08:23:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19741852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunishedPyotr/pseuds/PunishedPyotr
Summary: I looked for your name on the Ouija board/And you're making magic, oh dear lord/You and me are the difference between real love/And the love on TV, love on TV





	Psycho Mantis and the Madonna-Whore Complex

**Author's Note:**

> hingabee helped me write this (｀・ω・´)

“Eli, are you sure about this?”

“Of course I am,” Liquid said stubbornly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You only _just_ got out of the hospital, you can still barely walk. In fact, if it were not for me I doubt they would have released you _at all_.”

Liquid slapped his cup off the table and onto the floor, spilling milk all over the kitchen of the shitty two-room flat that had been the only place available close enough to the veterans’ hospital for him to make it to physical therapy every day. Mantis sighed and bit his tongue, and dutifully cleaned up like always. He _had_ to be patient with Liquid, he kept reminding himself. Liquid just had a lot of emotions right now and very little in the way of an outlet, considering his broken body.

“It’s my decision,” Liquid said, petulant. “And the doctor approved it anyway, they’re even billing it as a necessary operation instead of cosmetic.”

 _That’s because if they didn’t cut them off for you, you’d be self-mutilating by this time next week_ , Mantis thought, but didn’t push that thought into Liquid’s head. Liquid wasn’t quite consciously aware of the fact that the more active he was getting, the more of a threat he was starting to pose for himself.

“If you’re sure, then,” Mantis said. “And you’re not worried about the anesthesia?”

“I can live with the anesthesia. I can’t live with…” Liquid made a cupping motion towards his chest. “… _this_.”

There were a lot of things Mantis could say that he didn’t. “If you’re sure, then,” he simply said instead. He wasn’t about to try to talk Liquid out of it - he was right, it was his decision. It was _his body_.

But worry seethed in the back of Mantis’ chest.

* * *

It wasn’t until they were already adults that Mantis had first heard of the dangers of improper binding. What a relief, then, that that was something Eli had never bothered with. By the time Eli hit puberty he’d already known who he was, for better or for worse, and had developed a lovely little eating disorder to sabotage his body’s growth — and he’d probably never get rid of the runtiness he’d been left with, no matter how much he worked out, but at least his breast growth had been so retarded that they honestly passed for well-developed pectoral muscles and nothing more. Maybe a little too round on the underside, but some men had pecs like that and the muscular nature of the _rest_ of Eli’s body cemented the illusion. It had never bothered him, never had a _reason_ to bother him. In fact he’d been very proud of it.

And there’d only been one real giveaway, anyway. His little boyish pec-breasts, barely more than a palmful, were soft to the touch. Mantis knew this. He knew this because he’d been the only one to ever touch them, feel them. It’d been like their little secret and he’d never told anyone about it, never _wanted_ to tell anyone about it. The little bit of softness to Eli’s body was something shared with him and him _only_ , because Eli _trusted_ him…

Then Eli had been shot down over Iraq.

Mantis laid in the bed next to Liquid and watched the slow rise and fall of his chest as he slept. Tomorrow he’d be going back to the hospital to have fat and gland tissue scraped out from under his skin, and the surgeon had assured him that when they were done and it was healed then his chest would like just like a natal man’s and there would be very little scarring and even less chance of complications; Mantis knew goddamn well this wasn’t about looks. Just like a natal man’s? Liquid already looked just like a natal man. Strangers passing him in the street, even acquaintances never picked up on anything odd. Maybe if they knew he was a genetically engineered clone super-soldier, they’d think he was a little shorter than expected, but that was hardly a _tell_. Liquid didn’t need surgery. Mantis was absolutely convinced. Anything that _might_ give him away would be dealt with perfectly well once Liquid was healthy enough to start HRT.

This wasn’t about looks, this was about getting rid of _the part_ that been groped and assaulted and mutilated while he was a POW. Except, that had been his whole body, hadn’t it? There was no _part_ of him that had gone untouched, unsullied. In the dark Mantis felt like he could almost see the handprints still on him. Liquid was getting chest reconstruction tomorrow not because his pecs made him look like a woman but because desert-dwelling brutes had grabbed them and told him he was one, every day for almost four years.

It’d wear any man down. Mantis wasn’t upset. It wasn’t his right to be - it was Liquid’s body, Liquid’s trauma, Liquid’s choice. The feeling of Liquid’s chest underneath his hands— that wasn’t _their little secret_ , and Liquid deciding to take the expected next step in sex reassignment wasn’t any sort of commentary on the nonexistant secret anyway. He wasn’t throwing it away. It wasn’t a rejection.

Mantis ran his fingertips gently over Liquid’s stomach. He could feel his heart beating through his abdominal aorta. He hadn’t been back long, so of course he hadn’t gained back much weight yet, only enough to resemble a human being again instead of a sketch of one. Liquid would moan about his weight and then butt heads with Mantis over whether or not he would eat that day. Drove Mantis fucking nuts but he understood that Liquid needed to be in control of something, anything.

It was so much more peaceful when he was sleeping. And Mantis watched, because Liquid had admitted that he felt safer if Mantis was lying next to him. Mantis wouldn’t hurt him. Mantis wouldn’t do anything he didn’t want. Mantis would be right there when Liquid inevitably woke up screaming and needed to be pacified.

Now that Mantis thought about it, rubbing his thumb over a protruding rib, he really was the only person Liquid had ever freely _allowed_ to touch him.

* * *

No problems came up during surgery and no complications arose during recuperation; didn’t mean it wasn’t a hell of thing to deal with, with Mantis having to do everything for Liquid because he wasn’t allowed to lift his arms for the first two weeks - and still had another month to go before they’d allow him back in physical therapy — and the compression binder was constantly irritating him, so physical discomfort and pain from the swelling combined with the frustration of going back to being an _invalid_ was almost too much for Liquid to bear. Mantis shattered a lot of lightbulbs trying to stay calm as Liquid lashed out at him.

Things settled down a bit after a week or so, once the surgical dressing came off and Liquid was given permission to _shower_ again, even if Mantis had to wash his hair for him. (Liquid had nervously clutched a towel to himself the whole time, even though it was only Mantis.) Mantis didn’t sit in on Liquid’s doctor appointments but Liquid had shown him his new chest anyway as soon as they’d gotten back to his flat; Mantis’ reaction was mostly one of… exasperation. He looked exactly the same. It was like all they’d done was move his nipples down about a half-inch or so.

But Liquid was happy with the results and Mantis wasn’t going to probe into the fact that Liquid’s satisfaction here stemmed from being able to carve away violated flesh without being hauled off to the psych ward for it. What was next? Mantis resolved to keep an eye on him.

As Liquid slept, Mantis had to take off his mask to take a good look at him. He’d snuck lead into the walls without letting the landlord know, so the buzz of all the thoughts in London was only a distant, dolorous distraction. Liquid was so soundly asleep that his mind was almost pulling Mantis to sleep as well - but he wanted to stay awake.

He spread his fingers out over Liquid’s skin. No matter what had happened, he still looked so much paler in comparison.

His body had changed. Before Iraq - before Eli had left - Mantis had had every scar mapped out. He knew them well. They’d done too much juvenile exploration of their bodies not to know. Mantis had always been self-conscious over how marred his body was compared to Eli’s but now the situation was strangely reversed and it made Mantis miss the old days. They’d never been pure little angels, but their fumblings had been somehow innocent. Mantis vividly remembered pressing himself against Eli’s heat and even now it seemed like something that had only happened because neither of them knew any better.

Mantis gently touched the needle marks on Liquid’s inner elbow, a wandering purple bruise that was exacerbated every time Liquid fainted at physical therapy and was given IV saline. In time, that would go away. In time Liquid would look like he had before he left; he’d even grow his hair back out.

His new scars would fade over time until they looked no different from his old scars, and Mantis knew that frankly, most of them would end up going away altogether. The physical traces of his imprisonment would be just that: traces. So Mantis traced them, up his arm where he’d still had hand-shaped bruises when Mantis had first come to him in the hospital, then across his shoulder where marks from being viciously beaten were healed but still visible. Down to his chest, where there was a scar on one side that he’d had before he’d even met Mantis. Last week’s surgical wounds were small and keyhole-shaped. Once they healed up they’d look no different from the other scars. No one would be looking closely enough to notice that they were too symmetrical and even.

Gently Mantis laid his palm flat. Liquid’s lips twitched but he didn’t wake up. _You’re still soft_ , Mantis wondered.

He propped himself up on one elbow, scrutinizing Liquid’s peaceful face for a few long moments before sitting up entirely and leaning over him. He returned his hands to his chest. He couldn’t bring himself to go any further than that.

* * *

“…don’t. Don’t.”

“Shh.”

Liquid slipped away, knocking his chair over as he moved to the other side of the kitchen. Mantis put the comb on the table. Liquid clenched his fists.

“Don’t fuss, Eli,” Mantis said, keeping his voice measured. “You can comb your own hair, you know. I’m sure it’s alright to lift your arms at least _that_ much by now.”

Liquid nervously rubbed his elbow. “The doctor said…”

“My god, since when do you ever listen to doctors, anyway?”

“I don’t want— noticeable scars! It… people would know.”

Mantis sighed. A flimsy excuse, even if Liquid _was_ genuinely anxious about ‘tells’. Did he forget Mantis could read minds? He was tempted to remind him — he knew Liquid had asked Mantis to comb his hair for him just because he craved intimacy.

Liquid broke eye contact. “It’s not about my hair, anyway.”

 _Figures_ , Mantis thought. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I know that! I’m just— I’m just… not ready.” He drew his arms in close to himself. “Don’t touch me like that, Mantis. Please?”

“…”

God, this was pathetic — all Mantis wanted to do was help. He could hear, he could _feel_ Liquid wanting this, wanting to want this, wanting to be wanted. Touch-starved was an understatement. Liquid felt so repulsive and untouchable, too defiled to ever be desirable again. To ever even be worthy of _platonic_ physical comfort. He just needed a god damned hug and he needed it so badly it was making _Mantis_ itch, and yet he couldn’t even handle Mantis gently ghosting his fingers over the back of his neck.

And yet, somehow, it was okay when Mantis did it when he was asleep? He had to know Mantis did it - sometimes he’d wake up with Mantis’ arm still slung over his stomach. He’d said he didn’t mind, that he liked it, even.

Maybe it was just nostalgia for him, too. Lying together in the dark, with Mantis’ hands on him, was innocent. They were just kids. They didn’t know any better. Mantis, the tall and looming adult, sitting behind him and brushing the back of his finger over the nape of his neck was dirty, wrong, and threatening.

How funny. After everything that happened, it was Mantis who was the filthy one.

When Mantis didn’t say anything, Liquid dared to cross the kitchen back over to him again - but now he simply grabbed the comb for himself and disappeared to the other room without a word.

* * *

Mantis always felt like a bit of a voyeur watching Liquid’s dreams, even if it was sort of a habit. Not having to sleep as much as Liquid did often left him with nothing to do that wouldn’t accidentally wake him up, so from a young age he’d taken to casually observing Liquid’s dreams like someone else might watch a TV show. Most nights they were - or at least they used to be - pretty much just random access comedy or absurdist drama. Nowadays they tended to be excruciatingly detailed memories that left Liquid waking up ashamed and afraid. Watching _those_ dreams felt more violating than voyeuristic.

But Mantis knew how to calm them. External stimuli was naturally translated into dreams; Liquid was so conditioned to expect pain and brutality that even his subconscious mind couldn’t reconcile a gentle touch with the nightmare camp. Mantis warmly rubbed his leg, or held his hand, or stroked his hair, and Liquid’s brain had no choice but to change the dream to something relatively soothing and calm. It was the only way Mantis could get him to sleep through the night.

Sometimes, though - sometimes Mantis couldn’t drag him out of the camp. Instead of a softer setting, Mantis’ actions were prescribed to the mental image of that spineless, snivelling teenager who’d bit off more than he could chew pitying Liquid. God, somehow it made Mantis angry. It wasn’t Liquid’s fault. It made sense that _he_ would be the only person associated with the camp that Liquid could imagine tenderness from; after all, that unwashed, illiterate, immature goatherd had been someone Liquid considered “safe” even if he’d hurt him too.

Stockholm syndrome, Mantis thought, and banished the thoughts himself. Liquid made a little protesting noise as Mantis ripped apart his dreams and rebuilt them around a more innocent time; his hand in Mantis’ tensed, and Mantis rubbed a thumb over his knuckles.

He leaned close to Liquid, burying his face against his neck and inhaling deeply. He smelled like sweat and fear but it was faint — all the grime from his imprisonment had long since been washed away and replaced with mundane scents like shampoo, baby wipes, and antiseptic cream.

Mantis ran his hand down his side, the smooth skin of his waist, over his hip; again he rested his hand on his leg, but this time without the soothing circles. Taking Liquid’s ability to walk from him had been the first thing his captors did - after all, if they hadn’t, Liquid would have escaped before his condition had worsened too much… fortunately the damage hadn’t been as bad as originally assumed, and while the doctors were skeptical that Liquid would ever walk normally again Mantis was very confident that he would. Already he’d reached certain milestones in physical therapy that they’d predicted would take him the better part of a year _if_ he could even do them.

The surgical scars on his thighs, where his legs had been broken in the first place, were still recent enough that Mantis could feel how they were slightly raised. They must have been sensitive, too, because Liquid twitched a little as Mantis ran his fingers along them.

“Shh,” Mantis pressed against his ear. Liquid let out a tiny whimper as the boy in his dream squeezed reassuringly.

He was so receptive when he was asleep. If he didn’t know what was going on, he didn’t have to be afraid. All he had to do was feel nice, the way a dog does when being petted, the way a snake does when—-

Mantis was scared to kiss his face, he couldn’t even bring himself to look at it. He kissed his chest instead, near the surgical site. Liquid shivered sweetly beneath him.

 _I’m sorry_ , Mantis thought, _I don’t know how else to show you… you’re so afraid of something you need so badly_. Liquid’s legs pressed together, catching Mantis’ hand between them. His breathing grew shuddery. _I want to help you_.

Liquid gasped, waking with a start. Mantis had his back to him, clutching his hands to himself, pretending to be asleep despite the way his heart was hammering.

Liquid squirmed around in the sheets uncomfortably for a moment, then sat up and stared at Mantis. Then, satisfied that Mantis really was asleep, he laid back down on his side, facing away from Mantis, drew one leg up and started pawing at his crotch impatiently, chewing on the knuckles of his other hand. He was trembling and didn’t dare to even slip his hand under his briefs, let alone take them off. Mantis didn’t have to read his mind to know he felt sick and humiliated and frustrated.

After a few agonizing minutes, Liquid let out a whine and dropped his leg again, giving up. His breath caught on every inhale and Mantis didn’t know what to do. He just let him cry himself back to sleep.

* * *

“Is it too cold at night here for you?” Liquid mumbled.

Mantis lost his concentration on folding laundry, letting half of it drop to the couch beside him. “Excuse me?”

“You were really… very close to me last night. This morning, I mean. When I woke up. You were basically spooning me.”

 _Basically?_ Mantis thought. That had been, frankly, exactly what he had been doing. “Is that so wrong, Eli?”

Liquid went red. “N-No, I just thought you might be doing it for… for warmth or something.”

“And what if I wasn’t?”

He picked at a bandage for a long moment before answering. “Mantis, I told you, I’m- I’m not ready for anything like that.”

“You’re allowed a bit of human comfort, Eli. You don’t have to isolate yourself.”

“I’m not isolating myself! I wouldn’t be letting you live in my flat if I was!!”

“ _Your_ flat? I’m the one paying for it.”

“Well, if that’s such an inconvenience for you, maybe you ought to just go back to wherever the hell you were living it up while I was rotting forgotten in a prison cell!!”

“Eli, you _know_ I—! Just stop it!” Mantis picked a random article of clothing up, focusing on that instead. “You’re picking a fight for no reason. If you don’t want to talk about what’s bothering you then I suggest you go sit somewhere dark and quiet until you feel calmer.”

Liquid glared at him, hands clenching and unclenching, then folded his arms tightly. “I just don’t know what you want from me,” he said.

“Your recovery. That is all.”

“Nothing else?”

Mantis looked back up at him. “What do _you_ want, Eli?”

“I…” He looked so mortified. _I want my body back. I want it to be mine again._

Mantis wanted the exact same thing.

* * *

Liquid spread his legs in his sleep and Mantis’ heart sank. He just wanted to be able to do something about this- mindless desire for release. It always came bubbling up to the surface when Liquid’s guard was down. Mantis just wanted to help.

Help ended up being his hand creeping across his hip and then _down_ to where the fabric of Liquid’s briefs were slowly getting damp. His knees drew up a little bit; Mantis leaned into his neck, kissing gently, feeling him relax under him again. _It’s just me_ , he whispered at him. Mantis would never hurt him. Eli was safe with him.

Why, then, did he feel so bad about it?

Worried it was secondhand emotion from Liquid, Mantis looked into his head and only found vague and uninteresting dreams. Just heat and weight and the feel of intimacy. Liquid knew he was being touched. His mind didn’t bother assigning a face to it.

Mantis angled his wrist and, slowly, carefully, rocked his thumb against Liquid, just at where the vulva started to split. Mantis couldn’t claim to be an expert on Liquid’s anatomy and it was hard to be very precise with a fabric barrier in the way anyway, but he soon nudged against a firm-ish little bump that made a shiver start at Liquid’s diaphragm and he made a small sound against the top of Mantis’ head.

 _Found it_ …

“Nhh…”

Mantis could almost cry for his poor Eli. He kissed his shoulder; Liquid’s thighs flexed against the sides of his hand, his hips raised, one hand tightened against the sheets. Mantis patted Liquid’s hand with his free hand, then squeezed as Liquid unconsciously ground down against his fingers.

“Auh… nn— m-“

“Shh, shh.” Mantis circled around his clit, careful of his un-filed nails. He’d probably have to change Liquid’s underwear for him after he was done. Wouldn’t want him waking up like this.

“Mantis,” Liquid breathed.

Mantis froze, feeling distinctly like he’d been dunked in cold water. But after several long moments with Liquid not stirring (or rather, not stirring in any different way), he realized he was still asleep. Hesitantly Mantis peered into his mind. He’d assigned a face to his pleasure after all: Mantis. A much younger one, but Mantis still. The waking one was shaken.

Seeing this made it all too _real_ for him. He pulled back in horror.

Liquid whined, hips lifting again. How could Mantis abandon him? The warm fingers pressed against him dissolved into fog and left him cold and alone and rejected. Wanting but unwanted, unloved. _Please_ , he cried in his sleep, and he didn’t even know what he was calling out for.

Mantis swore under his breath and returned his hand to him. He was dripping wet and let out a sweet little moan as the dream turned pleasant again. There was an edge of surreal discomfort but watching Mantis’ baby face as he touched all over his body all at once soothed him into a stupor.

Too ashamed to watch, Mantis hid his face against Liquid’s shoulder and rubbed and teased and pushed his tender wounded flesh around until Liquid’s muscles tightened and he gasped, head tilting back, eyes still closed. Mantis could _feel_ him orgasm against him and it felt hot enough to burn. He pulled his hand away quickly. It took him maybe a full five minutes to realize that the continued panting was coming from him.

 _Fuck_. His pants felt so tight.

He was sitting down in a cold shower when he felt Liquid reach out to him, sounding very scared and small.

 _i think i need new sheets_ , he told him. _i just woke up like this i— i swear i don’t know what happened_

Mantis stared at the tile wall. _Do not worry, Eli_ , he replied. _I’ll take care of it. Go back to sleep._

_but i made a mess_

_It is alright. It wasn’t your fault._

* * *

Liquid was flighty the next morning. Mantis did his best to act like he didn’t know what it was about. He understood it was a shock to Liquid - not having sexual dreams and waking up horrifically turned on or even having already orgasmed, but having a sexual dream without violent brutality. Centered around Mantis, to make it worse. Mantis, who was sleeping next to him and Liquid had convinced himself wasn’t watching his dreams.

Mantis didn’t know how to (and didn’t know if he even should) tell Liquid that he had been, and he already knew. It was an easier decision to not tell Liquid what had caused the dreams in the first place. Even if Liquid had more of a right to know about _that_.

“Mantis. I— we need to talk.”

Oh god, here it came. “Yes, Eli?”

Liquid fidgeted. “Erm… I just wanted to ask, why were you showering so late last night?”

“…”

“It was three in the morning so, I think. You woke me up.”

Oh _god_ he _knew_ didn’t he. “I meant to shower earlier,” Mantis lied, unsure of how else to handle the situation. “I did not mean to wake you up. …that isn’t what you wanted to talk about, though?”

Liquid shook his head. “I meant… what were you doing up that late?”

“Is that a problem for you?”

“I thought you were sleeping at night.”

“Why does that matter to you?”

Liquid turned away from him, chewing on his thumbnail aggressively. “I just thought…”

“Are you going to speak up or do I have to dig the answers out of your head myself?”

“No!!” So that was exactly what this was about, then. “I don’t want you— I mean, what I was trying to ask was- if I’m asleep and you’re awake, you’re not… not… doing… anything, yes…?”

Mantis got the very distinct sensation of the bottom of his stomach dropping out. “What do you mean?”

“My dreams,” Liquid said, “you’re not watching my dreams, are you? I know you used to do that. But you… you know that now I… don’t want that happening, you know that, don’t you? And you’re not doing that? Not reading my mind without my permission. It’s not a very nice place nowadays…”

Oh. So it was about the dream after all. Liquid still didn’t… _know_. Mantis relaxed. “It never was a particularly nice place, Eli.”

“Shut the _fuck_ up, you bloody well know what I mean!”

Mantis placidly raised his hands, not wanting Liquid to throw another tantrum. He’d been getting marginally better at not doing that as of late and Mantis wanted to keep every bit of progress they got. “I, ah… can’t help but notice some things, Eli.”

“……”

“I wasn’t going to bring it up, but if you want to talk about it then we can.”

Liquid went bright red. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“I told you, Eli, it isn’t your fault,” Mantis said, indicating that he should sit down at the kitchen table across from him. Liquid silently sat, timid and mortified. “After… _experiences_ like yours, to my knowledge such dreams are normal. You cannot control them - it’s just your mind trying to dissect what happened. If anything, you should be glad that they’ve changed in this way — I’m someone familiar, and therefore ‘safe’, no?”

“I don’t feel very safe,” Liquid said, staring at his lap. “I feel like you’re going to kill me.”

“Of course not. I am not mad. Even if you could control it I would not be mad.” He reached out across the table, laying his hand halfway between them in offering. Liquid didn’t take it. “If there is anything objectionable about your dream last night, it’d be my age in it.”

Liquid wrinkled his nose. “It isn’t like we didn’t fool around at that age.”

 _Because you forced yourself on me_ , Mantis thought, but didn’t say; it seemed wholly inappropriate to point that out even if comparing his experiences to Liquid’s was the last thing he meant to do. “So there’s no problem.”

“Nn…”

“Well, what’s the matter, then? I told you, I have no reason whatsoever to be mad and as far as I’m concerned this is a sign you’re getting better.”

“I’m… dirty,” Liquid whispered hoarsely. “You felt it too, didn’t you? That’s why you went to go shower.”

“Eli.”

Liquid glanced up. He was so close to the truth. Mantis couldn’t say a thing.

“You’re not… you didn’t want it. You cannot be blamed for it.”

“It happened anyway.”

“But it was not your fault. The shame shouldn’t lie with you.”

“Who else, then?” Liquid snapped.

“Me,” Mantis said before he could stop himself.

Silence hung between them for a while. Slowly Liquid reached out and placed his hand over Mantis’; Mantis gently squeezed. “I was the one who ran away,” Liquid said quietly.

“I had the power to stop you and I did not. If I had know what would happen…”

“You didn’t. You had no way of… neither of us knew. How could we?”

Mantis squeezed tighter. “I’m sorry, Eli,” he said, and he meant it.

* * *

It wasn’t supposed to happen again.

That was supposed to be the end of it; Mantis had gotten away with it, Liquid didn’t know a thing, it’d worked out positively for Liquid in the end — giving him some shred of comfort and normalcy for his current fucked-up sexuality, all without tainting his innocence in the matter. All was well that ended well. Liquid had even gotten bold enough to give Mantis a quick, semi-sincere hug before going to bed.

It was good, everything was good now. Liquid’s head tucked up under Mantis’ chin fit so neatly. His hands were clasped protectively against his own chest and Mantis’ fingers were slowly travelling down his thigh.

It wasn’t _supposed_ to happen again, but it was. Mantis felt possessed. Liquid’s broken body and sleeping obliviousness was too powerful a lure.

Mantis pressed a kiss to the top of his head, wishing he weren’t such a base coward that he could at least watch Liquid’s face as he did this. Instead he had to hide from him, from himself; he didn’t look down as his hands moved, soft circles around Liquid’s hips. He felt a little huff of breath against his neck and shivered.

 _Good boy_ , Mantis thought, plucking at the elastic band of his briefs. _You don’t need to know about this. Just stay asleep_.

Liquid mumbled something incoherent as Mantis gently nudged him onto his back. His hands settled on his stomach. His face was tilted slightly to the side and his hair needed washed. Mantis sat between his legs and stared down at him, palms flat on the bed on either side of his waist.

He was so _pretty_. Liquid hated being called that but it was true. He was a very, very pretty man and Mantis could spend hours just _looking_ at him. It was like Liquid fired off the same neurons that appreciating fine art did.

And like fine art, Mantis knew, it was better not to touch - or else it wouldn’t last, it could be damaged, its worth lessened… Mantis didn’t see that. As far as he was concerned Liquid was as fine, as _priceless_ as he was the day he first met him. It didn’t matter how many people touched him and chipped his glaze.

So it didn’t matter if Mantis did it, too…

 _No_ , he told himself, crumpling and touching his forehead to Liquid’s stomach. That wasn’t right. _This_ wasn’t right. This was all wrong. How did he get here? Probably had something to do with the first and only time he’d worked up the nerve to kiss Eli - fourteen years old, had to wait until he was asleep, and cried for hours afterwards. Never told Eli about it.

He kissed him again now, but on his navel. Liquid’s fingers twitched as Mantis stroked the insides of his thighs; his legs parted obediently and Mantis nestled between them. Somehow he felt calm. He slipped his thumbs under the elastic of Liquid’s briefs and took a deep breath, biting his lip.

He shouldn’t. He had to. He _had to_.

Liquid obviously hadn’t gotten the chance to shave in the past few years, aside from the hospital giving him a trim to make surgery more sanitary - but that had been a while ago now, so the triangle of Liquid’s crotch was covered in scraggly, curly blond hair. Mantis carefully threaded his fingers through it. His hips twitched a little in response.

Mantis wasn’t quite sure what he’d been expecting; despite their adolescent fumblings, this was the first time he’d been face-to-face with this part of Liquid. Not that it was in normal condition, at any rate — still had plenty of surgical stitches down there, he’d have them taken out soonish but not quite yet. It was, after all, a delicate area - and prone to irritation. Mantis didn’t mind the Frankenstein’s monster look, though. Just as long as he didn’t catch his own stitches in Liquid’s. That’d be hard to explain.

As Mantis timidly pressed a kiss to Liquid’s pubic mound, for some reason he thought of long forgotten stories of saints who ate scabs and lice and sucked on purulent wounds. He supposed this was the same sort of worship that they participated in, though he doubted the Most Holy Synod would be commissioning a feast day for him anytime soon.

Liquid made a little choked noise in his throat, legs jerking as Mantis moved down to his clitoral hood. Then such a heartbreakingly pathetic little whimper as Mantis brushed his fingers against his folds, spreading him open just enough to get better access. Mantis did not want to be rough or pushy in any way. He wanted this to feel good. The more Liquid twitched and murmured under him, the better. It didn’t take long for arousal to start gathering against Mantis’ tongue.

Of course Mantis had never tasted him before, but he could still tell something was off. Probably had to do with how many heavy antibiotics Liquid had been on lately. So that, then, would heal over time too. He’d always imagined that Liquid would taste rather sweet, despite (or maybe because of) his bitter personality.

 _How dare you_ , Mantis told himself, _after everything he’s been through. You deserve everything he got instead._ Liquid moaned, his fingers curling. Mantis paused in his sucking on his clit to glance up at him, and Liquid quickly grew restless. _Please don’t wake up_.

“Mmmn…”

His little gasps were maddening. He rolled his tongue against Liquid’s clit, anything to get more a reaction - he was getting too bold, wasn’t he — Liquid pushed down against Mantis’ mouth, moaning unevenly. His breath kept hitching. Mantis was sure he was going to drown. What a terrible person he was. Drowning in his own filth and sin and dragging Liquid down with him. Liquid was an animal meant to run free and hunt and eat; Mantis was, apparently, into bestiality of the worst kind.

“Mn… Mant-…”

God it was so cute when Liquid got all squirmy in his sleep. Mantis really was the worst. It didn’t help matters that his own libido was getting disgustingly demanding, but like hell he was going to subject Liquid to it. This was fucked enough.

When Liquid’s hand lifted and weakly, clumsily gripped his hair, for a moment Mantis thought he was receiving absolution. Then he realized that Liquid was no longer fully asleep.

He froze. He didn’t even dare to breathe. _i’m sorry_ , he thought loudly, watering eyes fixed on Liquid’s swollen labia. _i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry_

“Mantis…” Liquid mumbled, his voice slurred with sleep still. “What are you…?”

_i’m sorry, eli i’m so sorry_

“Nnh…” Liquid’s head fell back against the pillow again. He was only half-awake. Mantis made to crawl away in shame but Liquid didn’t let go of his hair - instead he pulled him back, practically shoving his face against his crotch. “I meant…” he murmured, raising the back of his other hand to his mouth, “why did you stop…? Keep… keep doing that…”

“What?” stupidly said Mantis out loud.

“…feels good…” Liquid yawned. “It’s alright… if it’s you. I… I trust you… Mantis…”

Hearing that felt like a kick in the chest. Liquid might as well have straight-up told you “You’re manipulating me” or “You’ve been conditioning me to accept this”.

“Eli, I—“ Mantis started, but Liquid whined and tugged on his hair again. He wasn’t scared at all, wasn’t thinking that this was bad or strange - he was just tired, that was all, and in the grips of an animal compulsion to satisfy his arousal. The arousal that _Mantis_ had saddled on him in the first place. Therefore, he had a responsibility to Liquid’s instincts, didn’t he? He had to take care of this. “…sorry,” he whispered, and lowered his face again. Liquid’s moan was sweet as the attention to his clit resumed.

“M-Mantis…”

Somewhere around the time Liquid’s thighs were clamped so tightly around Mantis’ head that he couldn’t even hear anymore, Mantis was forced to acknowledge his erection stabbing into the mattress. He could angst and moralize as much as he wanted, but his dick didn’t listen. He was frankly horrified at his intense desire to sit up and rail into the waiting wet hole in front of him… Liquid’s back arched as Mantis brought him to orgasm again, this time with his mouth. His flavor improved somewhat.

Mantis wanted to die.

Liquid sagged against the bed, panting, sweaty, shivering a little. Mantis miserably crawled up the bed next to him, taking the blanket with him to tuck Liquid in - Liquid turned and caught him around the shoulders, exhaustedly hiding against his chest. Not knowing what else to do, Mantis patted his back.

“You’re… good to me,” Liquid mumbled, rubbing his face against him.

“No… Eli, I… I am sorry.”

“For what…? You… mm.” He ran his hands absently down Mantis’ body. “You didn’t do… anything wrong. I don’t think so…”

“…”

“You’re nice…” he sighed, “I’m so tired.”

“Then go back to sleep,” Mantis said quietly.

He felt a hesitant hand against his erection - he shied away. Liquid peeked at him from under heavy eyelids.

“Don’t,” Mantis choked.

“Did I do this…?”

Mantis hid his face in his hands. He heard a sleepy little giggle, but Liquid’s hand retreated.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to deal with it.”

“Neither do I,” Mantis said honestly.

“Mmm. Come back… I want to sleep.”

Mantis wouldn’t go any closer again. But Liquid closed the distance between them, curling up against him and falling asleep again quickly.

The least Mantis could do was put his underwear back on for him.


End file.
